


getting lost is worth being found

by lazyfish, shesthemuscle, wearethewitches



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Multiverse, Reincarnation, Round Robin, We Kill Ward 3 Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-14 23:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesthemuscle/pseuds/shesthemuscle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: When two people are meant to be, it doesn't matter which universe they're in - they find each other. It can be in different ways and at different times and with different outcomes, but they always get found(Or: three universes, three stories, one couple, and one happy ending.)





	1. Chapter 1

He’s had the case cracked since the moment it touched his desk. Antoine Triplett’s the best in the business, but no one understands how he knows what’s happened the moment he opens the file.

It’s easy, though. The flower screams up at him from the photo, a single daisy with its petals still pristine. It had probably been picked earlier that day.

She’s never been able to resist teasing him.

Trip tells Coulson they’re looking for the same person as they have been the last three months - a vigilante whose brand of justice is very much in line with Coulson’s view of the world, but who is outside the law nevertheless. Daisy’s talented in many ways. She’s leaked classified government documents, exposing a deep-rooted corruption; she’s Robin Hood-ed her way through at least three of Los Angeles’s multimillionaires (and proved their money wasn’t all that legitimately earned in the first place); she’s just so happened to find no less than a dozen burglars.

This is the first time she’s killed, though.

“We searched the victim’s car,” Mack says, eyes still narrowed from Trip’s uncanny ability to recognize their perp despite the change in M.O. “You know the girl who disappeared three months ago? Robin Hinton?”

Trip nods. Suddenly, he can see where this is going.

“There was blood in the trunk of his car. Matches hers.” He’s expecting it, but that doesn’t stop Trip from feeling cold right down to his toes. “We think he might’ve been responsible for what happened to that other girl, too. Just a hunch, but…”

“Coulson’s hunches are good,” Trip murmurs. That’s why Coulson’s the boss; he has a sixth sense, him and May both do. Trip’s hoped one day to develop the same sense, but instead he’s gotten a nemesis. Having a nemesis isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially because Trip can’t even really be  _ mad _ at Daisy. 

(He’s not even sure her name  _ is _ Daisy. The one time he’d seen her at a crime scene, though, she had been wearing a flower behind her ear, and somehow she had caught on to the nickname - probably from hacking into the computer system - and started leaving flowers wherever she went. That’s why their information on this case is now exclusively paper. It’s hard to hack into a folder.)

“Yeah,” Mack agrees. “You gonna find this girl, Triplett?”

Trip shrugs. He’s sure as hell gonna try to find her, but she’s smart as hell. She’s probably smarter than anyone he works with, which is why her case has languished, technically unsolved, for so long.

It shouldn’t be this hard to find her. They have a physical description, even Trip has seen her once - but her hacking skills make it easy for her to disappear. He’s taken to looking for her in the negative space. Sometimes cameras around the city will randomly go down, and that’s when Trip suspects Daisy’s out. She’s still a person, and she’s still got to buy groceries and maybe medicine and  _ definitely _ first aid materials. She doesn’t seem to have any accomplices, which is both a relief and a frustration. More a frustration, because it’s all or nothing. They either find her or they don’t. There’s no henchman or man in a chair to interrogate for more information.

Even if he knows who committed the crime and why, Trip’s still going to scour this case for any more details he can find. A connection to Hinton would be a gold mine; it’ll give them a lead on their case, which they desperately need.

Trip bids Mack goodnight, but it’s not until several hours later that he heads home, still no closer to an answer than when he’d started.

\---

Shattering glass wakes him up. Trip bolts upright in his bed, already grabbing for the gun on his bedside table. A sliver of moonlight slips through the now-open window catches on the broken glass, scattering silver across his walls and illuminating the silhouette at the foot of his bed.

“I wouldn’t shoot if I were you.” The voice is silky-smooth and distinctly female. 

Shit, it can’t be -

“Put the gun down, Agent Triplett.” He can’t tell whether it’s a suggestion or a threat, but for some reason, Trip lowers the gun. He knows it’s a stupid decision, just like he knows not immediately pushing a panic button and calling officers to his house is a stupid decision, but he’s too damn curious for his own good. 

“You can’t break into my home and then be surprised when I pull a gun,” Trip says. He still can’t see more than a silhouette, so he squints a little, trying to make out more details. It doesn’t work.

She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You really don’t want to shoot me.”

“You know, you’re not doing a stellar job of convincing me that’s true.”

“Have you ever shot someone, Agent Triplett?”

He blinks, put off by the question. He’s a law enforcement official, one who specializes in so-called unsolvable cases. Whether or not he’s shot people doesn’t seem relevant to their conversation, and he doesn’t like thinking about it too hard. “Are you asking me if I’ve killed someone? Because I know you have.”

“Ward wasn’t a person, he was a scumbag. The world’s better with him dead.” She goes from cool to spitting angry on the turn of a dime, and it’s freaky. 

“Not saying that ain’t true, but that’s not up to you, Daisy.” He’d agree that anyone who would kill a little girl is better off in the ground, but that’s not his choice to make. He has to believe in truth and justice and order, otherwise his job means nothing. 

He still can’t see her face, but he swears she smiles. “Have I ever told you I like the nickname?”

“Considering this is the first time we’ve spoken, no.”

“It’s a shame. I think we could be friends.”

“I don’t make a habit of being friends with vigilantes. Doesn’t look great on my resume.”

“Are you looking for a new job?” Daisy asks. “I know someone who could use a partner.”

Trip snorts. “What makes you think I’d make a good vigilante?”

“You haven’t shot me yet.” She shrugs, exaggerated enough so he can make it out even with just her outline. “I considered going to Coulson, but his wife seems like the kind to shoot first and ask questions later.”

Trip can’t help but laugh at that assessment. “Yeah, May’s…” He stops himself before he can give Daisy any more information. “Why the hell are you here?”

“I have some information I think you might be interested in.”

“You do realize I can’t do anything with what you give me, right?”

“Call it an anonymous tip.”

“You really think Coulson’s not gonna ask me who this anonymous source is?” She seems to have everyone on his team pegged, which isn’t a surprise. Their personnel files are extensive, and somehow Trip gets the impression she’s been watching them, too, which is unnerving.

“Lie.”

“My gran would kill me.”

Daisy makes a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. “I ask you to lie to your boss and your excuse is your  _ grandmother _ ?”

Trip glares at her. He thinks the effect might be lost in the dim lighting, but he has to try anyways. “You’ve never met my gran.” She’s shorter than Daisy and older than May and Coulson combined, but she’s also Trip’s gravity. She keeps him sane in a job that regularly makes him feel insane and always manages to know exactly what he needs to hear at any given moment. Disappointing her is worse than disappointing anyone else. Hell, disappointing her is worse than breaking the law, which Trip is pretty sure he’s doing right now. This might be considered aiding and abetting, depending on which way you look at it.

If Coulson ever discovers this conversation occurred Trip’s definitely going to get his ass chewed out. Why, then, can’t he just reach for his phone and let everyone know he has Daisy with him? Trip doesn’t understand it. He feels some affinity for her, something deeper than just agreeing that everyone she’s targeted so far deserved what they got, and it’s driving him mad. 

“Right.” The slap of papers hitting the floor echoes through Trip’s bedroom. “Take it or leave it, Antoine.”

“Aw, c’mon, girl.” No one but his gran calls him Antoine.

“You get your nickname, I get mine. And don’t call me girl.”

“It’s not a - nevermind.” He doesn’t get the impression she cares about whether it’s a nickname or not.

“For the record, I’m not going to kill anyone again. He was the exception.”

Trip doesn’t have time to answer before Daisy’s ducking out through his window again, leaving him alone in the darkness. 

He gets out of bed gingerly, hoping his bare feet won’t find any glass on his way to the light switch. He blinks when he flicks it on, eyes adjusting to the brightness before he can take in the sight before him.

His window’s definitely broken, but a stack of papers much larger than he expected sits at the foot of his bed, just begging to be read.

Looks like it’s going to be a long night.

\---

Trip’s eyes are still stinging when he walks through the front doors, but tired eyes and a late-night visit from a vigilante are the least of his worries. (His broken window is a bit worrisome, but he’d boarded it up and hoped for the best, because he’s in  _ way _ over his head here.)

“Mack.” He all but pulls the bigger man into his office, trying not to look suspicious when he does so. Mack follows, but gives Trip a look when he locks the door behind him.

Trip hadn’t brought the documents with him to the precinct. That would’ve been the stupidest thing he could’ve done, probably. They’re all in a hidden safe back in his apartment. Trip’s hoping beyond all hope that no one knows he has this information, because as soon as it’s leaked he knows, he’s done for.

He doesn’t normally carry his gun on his person when he’s not out solving a case, but it’s on his hip now.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I promise I’m not crazy.” Mack just keeps looking at him like he might be insane, so Trip sighs and soldiers on. “Daisy visited me last night -  _ shut up and let me finish _ .” Mack is so stunned by Trip telling him to shut up that he actually shuts his mouth, his protest dying on his tongue.

Trip glances around the room before he starts again. He should’ve swept for bugs, but he doesn’t know how much time he has anyways. It might already be too late. “This department - the entire  _ force _ is riddled with moles, Mack. Hundreds, if not thousands of them.” Trip swallows hard. The evidence Daisy had presented was overwhelming. Hundreds of unsolved cases, all forming a pattern. A complex web of relationships, all leading back to a single person in the 1940s, when Trip’s grandfather had joined the force. Unfortunately, Werner Reindhardt wasn’t the same kind of man Trip’s grandfather was.

“They’re dirty. The kind of people who give cops a bad name.” Trip looks around again, almost expecting it to be like an action movie where suddenly men in black burst in through his small window. “They’re the reason we couldn’t find the guy who killed Robin Hinton until Daisy got him. They’re the reason we couldn’t solve the Donnie Gill case, they’re the reason Coulson was shot in ‘04, they’re - they’re fucking everywhere, man.”

“How do you know I’m not one?” Mack asks.

“You haven’t shot me yet,” Trip deadpans. Mack doesn’t know that’s what Daisy told him last night, so of course it doesn’t make much sense to him, but it gives Trip a breath of fresh air despite the stranglehold he feels like he’s in.

“And why do you believe her?”

“Do you think I would accept wide-spread corruption if I had a better answer?” Trip had tried to find a better explanation, but there’s only so much that he can write off as coincidence. 

Mack heaves a sigh. “So what do we do?”

“I have no clue.” That’s why Trip hadn’t wanted to tell Mack in the first place, but this also isn’t something he can keep to himself. He knows Coulson’s clean, too, and May, but everyone else is suspicious. And if someone is dirty, and they happen to see the only non-corrupt cops on the force all meeting together in private, he’s sure alarm bells will go off.

In other words, they’re royally screwed.

“What else did Daisy give you?”

“Nothin’.” He had searched through the files, hoping for a code or some way to contact her, but she had just thrown the information at him and told him to fix the problem all on his own. Which, needless to say, is frustrating. 

Someone rattled the doorknob and Trip damn near jumps out of skin.

“Triplett.” Coulson’s voice. They’re safe for now.

Trip opens the door, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, boss. You know how that thing gets jammed sometimes.”

Coulson makes a noise that might be agreement, and leads Trip off to the interrogation rooms without a further word.

He lets Trip into the first one, and there, sitting across from him, is Daisy.

“I’ll let you take it from here,” Coulson says.

Trip strolls over like it isn’t the weirdest thing in the world Daisy was brought in and he didn’t hear so much as a whisper of it when walking into the precinct. 

She doesn’t look nervous. In fact, when he sits down, Daisy smiles at him.

“Ready?” she asks.

Trip can’t even ask what he’s ready for when everything goes dark. The light on the camera in the corner winks out, too, and the buzz of the air conditioning stops. Everything’s off.

“What the -”

“You really think I’d let you do this alone?”

Trip has the good graces not to say just two minutes ago he had been lamenting how Daisy had left him alone with a mess to clean up. “So, what’s the plan?”

“You arrest me.”

“Wait,  _ what _ ?”

“I give my full confession, and you arrest me.” Why is it that whenever they meet, she’s in the dark and he has to hear when she smiles?

“You’ve lost me.”

Daisy sighs, but lays out the plan in broad, simple strokes. He can fill in the details himself.

When the lights come on again, she’s ready to give her confession.

\---

Trip clears his throat, adjusting his tie nervously. He’s wearing his dress uniform, and it’s too stiff to be comfortable. A room full of members of the press are waiting on the other side of the door, and he has the notes for his speech tucked in his breast pocket. He doubts he’ll need them.

Coulson finishes introducing him, and polite applause fills the room when he steps up to the podium.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the press, for being here tonight.” He looks out at the crowd, unsure of why he expects to see a friendly face there. The closest he has is May, who’s standing at attention in the back of the room. Her face is more stern than friendly, but it’s better than the members of the press, who are staring at him like he’s a piece of meat and they’re starving animals.

“I understand you’re all giving this meeting your full attention, but I ask that you reach into your pockets and check your cell phones.” A ripple of confusion spread through the crowd, but one by one, they pull out their phones. Then, one by one, they realize they all have an email, complete with pages upon pages of file attachments.

“This department has struggled with closing cases for decades. We’ve attributed it to many things, from being understaffed to the sheer volume of cases we receive on a daily basis. Our jurisdiction serves millions of people, and failing on cases is all but expected.” Trip takes a deep breath before he delivers the coup de grace. “We never considered the very people sworn to protect this city were the ones killing it from the inside out. But for the past seventy years, that’s exactly what some members of this department have been doing.”

They’ve clicked on the attachments by now. Even just skimming through them, the evidence is damning. Trip knows it is.

“I ask that instead of reporting on a vigilante brought to justice today, you report on all of the city employees who are failing in their oaths. Spread their names, take their jobs, make their lives  _ hell _ , just like they’ve made the lives of everyone in this city hell by failing to arrest murderers, rapists, and other felons.” Arresting and trying everyone on the list would be impossible. No matter what happened, some of them would walk free, but Daisy had been convinced exposing their crimes to the public would be enough to make sure that even if they didn’t end up behind bars, their lives would be in shambles. 

She had experience exposing corruption, which Trip couldn’t say for himself, so he was following her lead here.

The press conference devolved quickly into a shouting, seething mob, and Trip stepped down from the podium after answering all the questions he could. He was going to be sleeping at the Coulsons’ tonight, same as Mack and everyone else he could think of that would be targeted from this takedown. Daisy was in solitary, which wasn’t his first choice, but would at least protect her a little if someone were to find her fingerprints on this case.

He’s done all he can. Now Trip has to do his least favorite thing in the world: wait.

\---

Daisy looks good in orange. It’s probably not the first thought he should have - especially not since he knows her real name now. She probably would prefer it.

“Well, well, well,” she says, smirking as she sits across from him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Trip doesn’t smile at her - he can’t make his muscles work. He’s too busy studying Daisy under the light. He had seen her mug shots, but they’re nothing like her real face, and it’s a bit strange to actually be able to look at her. “I came to say thank you.”

She shrugs. “Nothing to thank me for.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Daisy could’ve kept this all to herself. She could’ve come up with a plan to expose the dirty cops without sacrificing her own innocence. She could’ve done a lot of things, but she chose to do exactly what she did. Trip had always agreed with Daisy’s spirit, if not her methods, and this time was no different.

“Yeah, well, there are some things more important than…”

“Freedom?” 

“My freedom, specifically.” Daisy stares at him with wide brown eyes. “I put myself behind bars, but I freed this city. I’d say that’s more than a fair deal.”

Trip shakes his head. He really can’t believe this woman, with her interminable spirit and desire for  _ good _ . The tugging in his chest, the sense of rightness he feels with her - it only gets stronger the longer he’s with her. It makes more sense to him now. They’re cut from the same cloth.

“I’m hoping that in some other life, we’re on the same side,” Trip says, leaning forward. He finally manages a smile. “I think you were right about what you said. We’d make great partners. A good team.”

Daisy smiles back at him. “I think so, too.”

In some other life, they’re on the same side - but it’s not this one.

In this life, Trip goes back to his office and Daisy goes back to her cell, and they’re left on different sides of a line neither of them had realized they were drawing. 

In this life, they never quite make it past enemies-turned-allies.

(Lucky for them, this is not their only life.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed lyrics from "Moon River" and "Temptation" from NCIS
> 
> Flashbacks come from Chapter 1

“Miss Johnson?”

Daisy turns to the doorway and spots the manager standing there.

“Time to go on,” he says.

Nodding her head, she applies one more swipe of lipstick then glances at herself in the mirror before standing up from the chair. She looks perfect because tonight is the night.

A smirk blooms on her lips.

Oh yes, tonight’s the night.

“Alright, I’m coming,” she replies.

The manager offers her his arm and she takes it willingly while holding onto her dress with her other hand. The gold sequined dress clings to her curves like a glove, in combination with the low back and high slit….she’s sure it will do the job and catch his attention. She brushes her hair off of her face and the loose curls sit perfectly on her shoulder.

It doesn’t take long to reach the stage and for her to be introduced.

She smirks as she walks out and takes her place at the microphone then scans the room quickly – she spots Trip behind the bar when he nods at her before she spots him in the crowd.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. It looks like we have a full house tonight. If anyone has any requests, please write them down and hand them to your waiter. I’ll do my best to make many of them happen tonight.”

The crowd claps politely.

The opening bars of _Moon River_ start playing.

_“Moon river, wider than a mile….”_

Daisy loves starting with this song because it allows her to watch people without too much trouble but not be obvious about it either. He’s watching her intently and she can’t help smiling at him.

The next song she performs is _An Evening in Roma_ followed by _Try a Little Tenderness_.

At this point, he’s several drinks in so she moves onto more sultry songs as part one of the plan is a success.

\----

Antoine watches Daisy do her thing on the stage and he’s smiles in response. Hearing her sing will be something he never grows tired of. There’s a special kind of magic in her voice. He scans the audience and knows he’s not the only one who feels that way especially him.

Focusing on the job at hand, he makes a couple Old-Fashioneds then pours wine for several tables as the waiters come up to retrieve their drink orders and place new ones.

Antoine pays special attention to the waiter serving him; she’s clearly taken in by his charm but his eyes never leave Daisy. 

This will work to his advantage.

In between making drinks, he pulls out a small case from his pocket and thanks his lucky stars for the mood lighting in the club which conceals his actions fairly well.

There are several vials hidden within and he takes his time to consider each one and their results before selecting one.

Yes, this shall do nicely.

Antoine hears the opening notes of _Fly Me to the Moon _so he removes his chosen vial out of the case and places it innocently on the counter, hidden from view from all of the patrons and most of the other bartenders.

It won’t be long now.

The anticipatory fire sparks to life inside of him.

Grant Ward will not be getting away from them this time.

\----

Every time she catches Ward’s gaze, her smile grows more seductive despite feeling like she wants to rip of her skin. Men like him need to pay for their terrible behavior and she’s just the woman for the job.

Babs will never going to be the same because of him.

Her eyes meet Antoine’s and they both know they need to make their moves now.

Daisy spots Ward gesture his waitress over to order another drink; eyeing the number of empty glasses in front of him…it’s time for them to do their thing.

It’s time to break out the one song she knows will cause Ward to be eating out of the palm of her hand by the end of it.

_“Rusted brandy in a diamond glass….”_

Her movements are slow and drawn out, drawing the attention of every person watching her in the spotlight. A slight sway to her hips guides their gaze down her body as she walks in a figure eight on the stage.

_“Temptation, temptation, temptation…I can't resist”_

Daisy carefully makes her way down the stairs before subtly changing direction towards Ward.

The drunk stupor he’s caused himself is evident.

She circles him, lightly brushing her fingers over his shoulders then moves them up to his jawline.

Ward licks his lips and she winked in response.

Turning around so her back is facing him, she makes the sway of her hips more pronounced, adding to the drama of the backside of her dress.

On the stage, Daisy looks over at Antoine and from the grin on his face, knows she’s got Ward right where she wants him.

\----

Ward’s waitress approaches the counter and puts in another drink order for him.

Antoine smiles at her and promises he’ll get right on it.

When the coast is clear, he pulls out all the ingredients he needs including the special little vial of his. He prepares the drink as usual then right before putting the garnishes in, he pours the contents of the vial into the liquid before giving it a quick stir.

Everything’s set and he’s done his part.

He has no doubt Daisy will succeed, she’s that good.

There’s a flash of something…_a little girl, a man who looks like Ward then Daisy standing in front of him even though he can’t see her well, he knows it’s her…talk of partners…_

Shaking his head, he focuses on his best friend as she walks towards Ward.

The spotlight reflects off of her dress perfectly.

In another life, he just may have been interested but not now; Robbie’s a much better fit for her as Jemma is for him.

Antoine mentally slaps himself.

This is no time to get distracted by stray thoughts – justice needs to be served away from his father and brother’s influence and wallet.

As she finishes up her final song of the night, he quickly cleans up before sneaking out of the club in order to get to the van and bring it to the meeting spot so Daisy doesn’t need to drag Ward around.

\----

The audience claps loudly as Daisy takes her final bow of the night. She meets Ward’s gaze and winks, getting a smug smirk in return. Oh, he’ll regret that soon.

Daisy exits the stage and takes the arm of the manager once again.

“Quite the performance you put on tonight, Miss Johnson. We’ll have to discuss you performing again sometime,” he says.

“I enjoyed myself tonight and would be honored to perform again on your stage,” she replied.

Soon, they arrived at her dressing room.

“Your payment for the evening is in your room. Have a wonderful rest of your evening, Miss Johnson.”

She smiles at him before entering the room.

Quickly, she secures her payment then changes into more appropriate clothing before exiting the dressing room.

Ward doesn’t know the meaning of subtle or discreet so it doesn’t take her long to find him.

“Mmm…that was quite the show you put on tonight, Daisy. Where you singing to anyone in particular?” he asks out of the blue.

Daisy tilts her head to the side then looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes as she licks her lips catching his immediate attention. Running her fingers lightly along his arm, she watches his reaction and pleased to see the effects of Trip’s drug working in action.

“There may have been one handsome man in the audience….”she trails off seductively.

Ward swallows reflexively.

“And, um, who’s the man?”

She smirks at him.

“Oh, I think you have an idea, Grant.”

Taking his hand easily, she guides him out the backdoor of the club and anyone who saw them looked away because they didn’t want to see what they thought Daisy and Ward were up to.

Daisy pushes him up against the wall causing his eyes to widen in surprise.

“We’re gonna have _fun_ tonight,” she whispers softly as her eyes gleam in excitement.

Using her body to hold him in place against the wall, she brings her right hand up to the back of his neck then stabs him with the cleverly concealed syringe, knocking him unconscious. His body falls forward causing her to hold him for a minute before she hears a vehicle approaching their location.

A van stops suddenly behind her.

“Right in the Knick of time, aren’t you?”

“Come on, girl. You know better than that.”

Daisy smirks at Antoine over her shoulder then freezes.

_They’re in a room, on opposite sides of a table and she’s wearing an orange jumpsuit of some kind. They’re speaking to each other but the only word she catches is ‘freedom’._

Shaking her head, she waits for Trip to come help her with Ward.

Antoine opens the back of the van then comes around to assist with carrying their not-so dead weight. Grabbing Ward’s feet, he picks him up then they carry him to the back of the van before quickly tossing him and closing the door.

“We better scram before people coming looking for him,” comments Daisy.

“Pretty sure the only person who’ll miss him is the waitress,” replies Antoine.

They climb into the front of the van then take off.

\----

Down by the river, there’s a hidden spot they created in anticipation of tonight’s event. It’s covered by foliage though there’s room for them to park the van with ease.

Daisy exchanges a smile with Antoine.

Ward’s finally getting what he’s had coming to him for years and Daisy fights the urge to rush it. This needs to be done right so they don’t get caught. She knows what happens to people who stand against the Wards.

Antoine takes out the bag containing everything they need to deal with Ward permanently – duct tape, rope and chains plus tools to break and secure the bricks to Ward.

Once everything’s set up by the water’s edge, they grab Ward and pull him out of the van and over to where they want him.

“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this. It wouldn’t undo what happened to Babs but no other woman will have to fear for their life,” comments Daisy.

“You’ve got that right, girl.”

Antoine puts tape over Ward’s mouth then holds his hands together as Daisy tapes them together. Then she wraps the chain around his waist then around his wrists. Chains go around his ankles before connecting to the chain around his waist. Finally, they secure his feet to the concrete blocks before standing him up on a dolly to move him to the pier.

“Three…two…one…”

They push Ward over the edge and he sinks down to the bottom of the lake.

Daisy hugs Antoine.

“Let’s clean up then get out of here,” he comments.

Smirking at him, she knows why he wants to get out of here and it’s not just related to not getting caught.

“Jemma will appreciate waking up to you for sure.”

He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Like you’re not itching to get home to Robbie.”

Daisy sticks her tongue out at him.

\----

Opening up the paper, Antoine raises an eye brow at the cover story.

** _Ward Heir Found Dead in Local Lake_ **

“What’s with the funny look on your face? It’s worse than usual,” comments Daisy from the doorway.

He holds up the paper for her to read.

“Well, it’s about time. Right?” she asks.

They share a look when they hear a feminine scream coming from the living room, indicating Jemma’s read the news headline.

“Good luck with that. I’ve gotta go,” she says quickly.

Antoine freezes.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Daisy Johnson.”

She winks at him before making a mad dash for the door way.

Antoine mentally swears at her.


	3. Chapter 3

The crystals are blue.

Trip doesn’t know why it’s so surprising for them to be blue – maybe he expected red, for danger. Or maybe it’s just the fact that there are crystals hiding inside that Diviner at all that shocks him. Raina is in awe of it, the complete opposite to the horror of Trip and Skye.

“What can we do to stop it?” Trip asks, confused and scrambling for answers. They were all so sure that this would lead to disaster.

Skye shakes her head, staring at the crystals as they revolve and expand, creating an otherworldly shrine. “I don’t think we can.”

Swallowing, Trip tilts his head, trying to control the nervous energy flowing through his body. He can’t help but think of his mother, of her pumpkin pie at Christmas and it’s so wrong – Trip shouldn’t think of her, not now.

_I’m not going to die. I’m not_.

It feels like denial.

“What’s supposed to happen?” Trip asks aloud. Will there be an explosion? An earthquake? Will it call down extraterrestrials from the ass-end of space?

“Something beautiful,” replies Raina, not helping in the slightest.

Then, a ring of smoke slams outwards – causing all three of them to stumble and gasp, a ringing echoing through Trip’s head. His vision swims for a moment and the ringing turns to music, to smooth, slow jazz.

_It’s not just sentimental no, no, no…_

He blinks, dazed, before feeling a creepy-crawly sensation along his fingers and his feet. Trip tries to shake it off, looking down-

“Holy god,” he mutters, hearing Skye’s distressed reaction as grey, clay-like rock bubbles into existence over their skin and clothes. His feet are immoveable, stuck like cement and his back arches as he overbalances – but then, that’s stuck in place, too.

“No, no- Trip! _Trip!_” Skye calls out in panic and Trip reaches for her, struck with a blind need to take her wrist, to hold it tight so she won’t leave him. He reaches out for her.

The rock overtakes his shoulder.

“I won’t leave you,” he promises her, eyes like fire before he feels it on his neck, crawling up over his jaw and cheeks. The last thing he sees before his world goes dark is Skye, encased in solid rock, just like him.

Everything is quiet.

He itches with the need to see Skye, to make sure she’s okay. He wants to know everything about her. He wants to see her face, to break apart the stone that had materialised over their skin. Trip remembers that god-awful moment when Coulson had told them that Raina and Skye were in the city, before he went off to disable the charges. The ringing of the timer as he pulled it out of the third explosive had sent his heart racing.

_Skye,_ he thinks, yearning and wanting. _Please. Please be okay. Please be safe._

As if answering his mountain’s worth of thoughts, the creepy-crawly sensation from the rock goes bone-deep, the feeling of a lock turning and _clicking_ reverberating through his entire body. There is a moment of complete nothing.

Then-

_“You really think I’d let you do this alone?”_

-and then-

_“Pretty sure the only person who’ll miss him is the waitress.”_

The silence and the black fills with images. Skye is at the centre of them all.

He sees them murdering Ward together in a back-alley – he sees them dangling their legs from a skyscraper as they gaze at the city below. Whether they’re human or alien, gods or devils, interdimensional demonic entities or parasitic heathen angels – she’s always there. She is his one constant, as he is hers. Two parts of a pair. Either side of a coin.

_I am hers and she is mine. Forever._

The stone casing aches. His back hurts. Claustrophobia has never been a problem for Antoine Triplett, but he’s feeling it now, even as his head swirls with lives lived elsewhere and elsewhen. He needs to see Skye again, to see her with new eyes. He doesn’t care what the crystals have done to them – if anything, knowing makes him care less. The memories are a gift. Not a reason.

In his bones, he feels that _click_ again.

A rumbling starts, a gentle shaking that steadily grows as his stone prison suddenly vanishes, releasing him to fall back, onto his knees and then sprawling to the ground. His shot arm aches and his insides feel like smashed apples, all bruised and badly liquidised. Trip hates smashed apples.

“Skye?” he calls out, sitting up. The city is silent, except for the crackling noises of falling stone. He looks over to Raina, whose hand is being revealed – a dark, clawed hand. “Skye?” Trip calls again more urgently, getting to his feet and looking to the stone statue that is his girl.

Like Raina, her hands are revealed first. Her fingers twitch and he reaches out, touching them in consolation as more stone falls away around her face.

“_Skye_,” he repeats her name again, this time in relief. He sees the brightness to her eyes from tears, though whether they are happy or not, he can’t tell. Other Skye’s could lie to him.

_But not this Skye,_ thinks Trip, stuck in _this_ world with _this_ _Skye_.

Then, of course, _his Skye _explodes.

* * *

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep-_

“Urgh,” Trip groans, drawing out his disgusted expression as the monitor continues its incessant beeping. His insides still feel like smashed apples.

“Trip? Trip – are you awake?” A familiar voice asks. Trip recognises them as Daisy, his Daisy. Slowly, he opens his eyes, squinting despite the low light.

Almost immediately, he is awake.

_Skye,_ he thinks, _not Daisy._

She’s sat on the bed beside his, squashed into the quarantine room where everyone can see them through the clear windows. He can read the large text, reading _DANGER_ backwards in red.

“Hey!” Skye calls to someone on the outside, dressed in a large hazmat suit. “Hey – he’s awake, Trip’s awake, now!”

“What…what happened?” Trip asks, unsure. He feels off-balance, like the world is the wrong colour and only he can see it. Slowly, it all comes back to him. The stone, the explosion, Raina- “_What the hell happened?_”

His demand is made part in fear, part in disbelief. He looks at his hands, expecting to see the dark claws that Raina had – but he’s fine. His nails are normal and his skin the same dark brown. Skye moves, legs swinging over her bedside, barely standing for a moment before she’s settling beside him, wires and drips stretching across the expanse.

“We’re alive,” Skye says, pressing up against him. Trip reflexively holds onto her, his own drips and leashes tugging at the skin of his inner elbows and hands. “We’re in quarantine. They don’t know what the Obelisk did to us. Jemma thinks we might be contagious.”

“Are we even ill?” Trip asks, though he knows there’s something wrong. Smashed apples. His lungs feel like jelly. “How are you feeling?”

Skye’s smile wobbles on her face, her eyes teary. “A lot happened,” she says, voice croaky. “I met my dad. I- I think he called me by my name. My _birth _name.”

_Daisy_, Trip can’t help but think, wanting to say it aloud but knowing he can’t. How could he know that, if it’s true? His mind whirls, even as Skye tells him of her captivity – of how Ward had taken her and Raina on the plane and brought them right to Cal and Whitehall.

“It glowed when I touched it,” she whispers, “like with Raina. She was fine, too.”

They sit in silence for a time, until doctors in hazmat suits come in to check on him, interrogating him on his health and getting his version of events for their records. He sees them glancing at each other when he tells them about what he saw of Raina, one of them scurrying off to report it to Jemma, who is apparently excavating and demolishing the alien city.

The next day is full of visitors, coming to see him and Skye. Coulson, May, Mack, Fitz, Bobbi and even Hunter come see them, usually equipped with some variation of _you’ll get out of there soon_ and _we’re glad you’re alive, even if you’re in quarantine_.

It gets old.

At night, when they’re left there in the dark except for a single light that has to stay on, Trip watches Skye as she settles in bed. Universes are stuffed in his mind – every version of Skye smiling at him and rarely, if ever, truly disliking him. Having so much in his mind’s eye hurts him a little, making his head ache until he stops trying to force it. The memories are a gift. But how he received them makes him cautious.

“Trip?” Skye calls out quietly, close to midnight.

“Yeah, girl?”

He hears her shift on her bed, the frame squeaking and creaking. “I’m glad you’re okay. I don’t…I don’t think anyone else would have survived.”

Trip frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…it can’t be a coincidence that both Raina and I could pick up the Obelisk without getting hurt,” she says, her confidence growing as she speaks. “Whatever made us special – it must be in you, too.”

“Special,” Trip repeats, recalling what Skye told him about Cal’s ramblings and Whitehall’s stone-cold statement about her mother’s lack of aging. “You think we’ve got powers, girl?”

“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe.”

* * *

Jemma is scared.

“Simmons, you need to calm down,” Trip says, arms crossing over his chest as the woman paces outside the glass. “Skye had a theory that might settle your head a little.”

“Skye?” Jemma focuses on their mutual friend, who glances at Trip hesitantly. He nods encouragingly and Skye breathes in deeply, heart-rate steady as she tells Jemma about holding the Diviner.

“The odds…” Jemma mumbles, lips pursed. “I can’t pursue that line of thought, Skye. Whatever happened to you in that chamber could still be dangerous to you and to the world. What if you could turn people to stone with a single touch?”

“She’s touched me,” Trip defends Skye, anger rising in his gut. “You can’t keep us in here forever, Simmons.”

Simmons has the audacity to laugh and he can hear that edge there, all worry and _crazy_. “You’ll stay in here as long as I see fit. You’re in quarantine for a reason, Agent Triplett.”

He wants out. Trip wants out, just to spite her. He stands, taking off his monitors and drips even as both Jemma and Skye call out, Skye reaching to stop him. The walls are closing in on him. He feels claustrophobic, more than before – more than when he was encased in stone.

Trip pushes past Skye to get the door and something in his bones _clicks._

When he kicks at the door, the damn thing falls out like it’s been propped up. Jemma shrieks as it falls to the ground, shattering and for a moment, Trip stares in amazement. Then he realises he can leave – he can get out of this hellish glass box.

“Finally,” he mutters and it is second nature from a thousand lives to look back at Daisy – at _Skye_ – who stares at him with fear in her eyes. She’s not scared of him. He knows that the moment he sees it. Trip holds out a hand. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go watch some stupid TV.”

In an instant, her fear fades. She steps forwards, tentative, fingers itching at all her monitors and lines. Trip doesn’t want her to take them out herself, not like he did to himself – so he looks to Jemma and finds himself staring at the barrel of a gun.

“Get back in quarantine,” she orders, voice shaking. “This isn’t like you.”

“Isn’t like me?” Trip repeats.

Jemma nods sharply. “You need to get back into quarantine, Agent Triplett. I can get the door replaced. I can’t bring a world back to life.”

Annoyance festers under his skin. “No,” he says, looking to Skye again. She looks awful and he has no doubt that he looks the same. Maybe it would be best to keep her on everything. Trip points at the drip stands, heart monitor connected to the wall by a single line. “Unplug that and bring it along.”

“What about you?” Skye asks, but she does as he says, eyes darting between him and Jemma, who is ordering them over and over to _stay in quarantine._ Maybe it’s reckless to leave – maybe it’s not. Trip just can’t find it in himself to stay, not when there’s a shattered door on the ground under his feet and when he finds himself breathing faster at the thought of willingly getting back in that room.

“C’mon, trooper,” he murmurs when Skye finally joins him, their hands entwining.

Walking through the Playground has two effects. One is half the agents avoiding them on principle. The other half is being welcomed back with hugs and congratulations for making it out of the last mission alive. Skye is at first hesitant, but by the time they make it to the common area, she’s the best Trip’s seen in weeks – relaxed, without the weight of the world hanging over her head.

Still holding her hand, he asks her, “What do you want to eat?”

“Has anyone even been grocery shopping recently?” she jokes, before they raid the cupboards for the Nutella and peanut butter, making the unhealthiest sandwiches on the planet to go with their bananas and milk.

“This looks like a party.”

Trip looks up. Coulson is there, May on one side and Jemma on the other. Keeping his cool – knowing that at his side, Skye is back to being on guard, guilt radiating off of her – Trip cuts his sandwich into squares.

“Yup.”

“You weren’t supposed to leave quarantine,” he continues lightly, waiting for their excuses. Trip reaches to take Skye’s hand, glancing at her when her mouth opens to apologise.

“You couldn’t keep us in there forever. Simmons doesn’t have the right to treat us like prisoners.”

“This is an alien contagion,” Jemma insists.

“And that’s unusual?” Skye speaks up, surprising him. Her eyes are locked on Jemma. “We’ve dealt with alien viruses before. There’s nothing – _nothing_ – about us that’s shown we’re contagious or even ill.”

“Because we’ve not cleared you,” persists Jemma, fists clenched. “There hasn’t been enough time to do all possible analyses of your conditions; and it’s not like you’re being very cooperative, anyway.”

“We just want to be able to walk around.” Skye slams her hand down on the tabletop, the plates clattering at the force. Trip eats one of his sandwich squares. “Is that so much to ask?”

“Yes!”

“Alright, calm down, you two,” Coulson puts a hand up, silence falling. “Trip. Skye. It’s important that you stay in quarantine till this is all over. It’s only temporary.”

“Not according to Simmons,” Trip replies, colder than he means. Nevertheless, they go back to quarantine.

At least this time there are sandwiches.

* * *

“You’re different, you know.”

Trip glances up. “Huh?”

“You’re more protective,” Skye states, stretching her leg out to the end of her bed to where he’s lying, poking his stomach. “Why? Is it because I’m a helpless damsel in distress?”

“From what I heard, you saved yourself, _rockstar_,” Trip says, happily mocking Bobbi’s nickname. Skye laughs, but waits for him to speak; clearly, it wasn’t enough of a distraction. Trip looks at his arms, tracing scars and tattoos of other lifetimes. There’s a specific one he had in a few of those – of an anchor made of daisies – he’s mused over getting back.

“Trip. What’s wrong?”

Her concern is audible. Trip wavers, wanting to tell her the truth, but not sure if she’d believe him. He looks up, caught in her gaze. It makes him suck in a lungful of breath, heart stuttering as he swoons.

“I love you.”

It comes out without meaning to. Words he can’t take back fly from his mouth, an amalgamation of everything he’s ever felt – in this life, not just ones he’s lived before. Every sort of relationship he had with Skye – with Daisy, with whatever she was called in another life – was different and unique; completely separate to this life now, yet wholly connected.

He’ll always love Daisy.

But right now, he’s _in love_ with Skye, _his_ Skye. Trip’s other lives have only helped clarify that.

“I hate seeing you locked up in here with me,” he whispers. “And I love you. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Trip,” Skye practically gasps his name, hands fumbling with her covers before she finally gets a hold on them, white-knuckled. “You- you _love _me? Like- like a brother, or-”

“I am _not_ your brother, Skye,” Trip says, with a ghost of humour across his face. “Not in this life, anyway.”

“God, Trip, I didn’t…I didn’t know,” she says and that’s alright. He smiles and shrugs and pokes at the foot stretched in direction. Ever-ticklish, she drags it back immediately, unable to help grinning at him. And then she says something he never – _should have_ – ever expected.

“I like you, too.”

* * *

Their DNA results come back and it’s awful to hear Jemma’s ranting. Coulson breaks his promise, telling them they should stay in quarantine until further notice. It’s not like they’ve already traipsed through the Playground and potentially infected half the agents, _no_. Trip brings it up once and Jemma, because she’s being demented like that, has every agent in the building go through genetic testing to make sure their DNA hasn’t been ‘warped’ like Trip and Skye’s.

“On the bright side, we captured Ward,” Bobbi says, cringing as Jemma extracts blood from her arm. Trip thinks Jemma is doing it out of spite, having all the gory bits going on in front of quarantine for them to see.

He has to say, it’s the perfect revenge.

“Ward’s here?” Skye demands an answer, glowering. “I shot him, though! Three times!”

“He was shot by Agent Thirteen on her way out of the building, apparently. We just got him out of Puerto Rican custody. He’s in our holding cells, as of an hour ago.”

“I want to see him.”

“_No_,” Trip shakes his head, but Skye won’t be deterred. Trip doesn’t want her to see him – to see the man that in so, _so_ many lifetimes is a man not worth a moment of her time. A murderer, a rapist and in this life, half those plus a Nazi – he hopes only half, at least.

Jemma hums, though. “It would be a good experiment.”

“_Experiment?_”

“You want us to infect Ward?” Skye raises her eyebrows at Jemma, clearly understanding everything and more from Jemma’s single sentence than Trip ever could.

(He ignores how, in many lifetimes, Jemma was his wife. He knows her like the back of his hand. He knows how she likes her tea and what she finds most interesting in a line-up of weapons. He remembers when Skye was called Daisy Simmons and Fitz was Leo Triplett; there are so many lives and variations of their relationships, none the same as he last.

He ignores how he knew exactly what she meant when she said _good experiment._ He doesn’t need Skye to translate that to him.)

Jemma quirks her head then smiles a chilling smile. “Remember to touch him. Punching him in the face will do.”

“_Oh my god._”

* * *

There is a moment where everything is going as expected. Skye and Ward taunt each other, arguing until Skye uses the perfect moment in the argument to punch him in the face like planned. Trip is watching it from a screen in Coulson’s office; for all they want to keep them in quarantine, they’re being lenient, now.

Hating Ward must be universal.

But then the punch goes weird. Trip watches as Ward’s face flips back, the very air warping around Skye’s fist. His head moves back at such a force that the _SNAP_ echoes through the speakers. Startled and shocked, Trip and the others watching leap to attention, already on edge.

Skye is frozen on screen, her arm half-lowered in confusion. “_Ward?_” she calls his name, tentative. “_Ward…_”

Trip stares at the image of Ward, neck broken in the chair. Coulson is already ordering Skye to be taken out of there, while Fitz takes the footage and rewinds it, trying to figure out what happened.

“What is wrong with her? How is she _that strong?_”

“She’s not,” Trip says, not even realising he’s spoken until he hears himself speak. “This is it. Whatever…_it_, is. Her power. What makes her special.”

“She killed a man,” Hunter says, disturbed.

“We’ve all killed,” Trip says, watching the live footage of Skye being dragged back and away, clearly in shock at what she’d done. He thinks about the Ward Heir and Robin Hinton’s murderer – two of their more recent lives lived.

_Another dead Ward to add to the list._

And just like in those universes, Trip has no regrets – except for that Skye was the one to do it.

* * *

There come other people and certain truths. Whitehall is dead because of Coulson, but that doesn’t erase what he’s done. Jiaying, leader of the Inhuman community – and Skye’s mother – has her man Gordon abduct them both the moment they’re officially let out of quarantine and everything is explained to them.

Apart.

“I want to see her,” Trip demands, growling at the acupuncture needles being taken out of his arms.

Lincoln, the doctor here in Afterlife, answers almost monotonously. “She’s being taught how to use her powers. They’re more unstable than yours.”

“And what are _mine?_”

“I have no idea – do you?”

The smile on his face makes Trip want to punch him. He doesn’t see Skye for another three days and by then, she’s not going by ‘Skye’ anymore.

“It’s Daisy.” Her smile is a beam of sunlight and she looks like she treasures it.

“Daisy,” he says softly, reaching up to cup her cheek with his palm. “Pretty name, girl. You’re going to be chasing away all the boys.”

“Only one boy I want,” she says, reaching up to his collar and tugging him down. Their lips collide and it’s the best feeling, knowing she wants him like this. Trip cradles her in his arms, their noses brushing and then their foreheads resting together as the kiss ends, a chuckle echoing through the room. Trip and Skye – _Daisy_ – look to see a woman watching them in amusement.

“I see you’re closer than I thought.”

“Yeah, we- Trip, he and I are friends. More than friends,” Daisy says, looking at Trip for confirmation. He grins at her, playing.

“Do you want to hear me say _I love you_, again?”

There’s a brightness to her eyes. “I wouldn’t mind, to be honest. It’s nice to hear.”

Trip opens his mouth to reply, but the woman clears her throat.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s about high time we had a proper conversation.” She steps forwards, offering her hand. “My name is Jiaying. I’m the leader of this community and Daisy’s mother.”

“Holy shit, what?” Trip turns ninety degrees, taking her hand to shake. “Really?”

“Really, Antoine Triplett,” she says. “I heard you broke down a door.”

“It was made of glass.”

“And steel,” Daisy adds, her excitement visible. “I can move _mountains_, Trip! I can control vibrations – they think the earthquake in Puerto Rico was _me_, when I first got my powers.”

Trip absorbs this, adding his two cents, “It would explain why you kind of exploded out of your shell.”

“You saw that?”

“Girl, I was already breaking out,” Trip brags, “and so was Raina. You were a late bloomer.”

Skye- _Daisy_, scowls at him, but it’s not true or deep. Trip wraps his arm around her waist, wishing she’d remember like him. It would be so much easier – so much _better_ if he was able to talk about this. It might be his power, remembering his other lives, but that doesn’t make it any less believable.

He feels a _click_ – but what happens after is not what happened before.

He drops to his knees, feeling starved all of a sudden, like he’s not eaten for days or drunk water for a week. He gasps in shock and pain, unable to understand what just happened.

The true shock is Daisy. She freezes in place, blinking rapidly before dropping to the ground purposefully, grasping his arms that had slackened from around her waist when he fell. Jiaying is immediately by their side, but he has no eyes for her.

“Antoine, what did you do?” she asks, grasping his face in her hands. “I remember- I remember _everything_. How did you do that? Was it really you?”

“If my power if making you remember your past lives, it must have,” Trip garbles, feeling the world pressing in around him. The edges of his vision are dark. “Girl, I’m about to drop. Catch me?”

“Always,” she swears, right before he faints.

* * *

Trip wakes from a coma to find that the world is very different from when he woke.

“It was…awful,” Daisy admits to him, sniffling. “My mom’s dead. We’re the only SHIELD, at least.”

“The hell happened?” Trip mutters, but all that matters to him is Daisy, who curls up beside him in his hospital bed – and then again in his quarters.

“I love you,” he says.

“Because of the other lives?” she asks.

Trip shakes his head. “I loved you before. The other stuff…just made it clearer.”

Daisy is quiet for a time, before she says, “My dad said something about barriers. Your powers. You break down barriers – physical and mental. You could do a lot.”

“Like what?” he asks, trying to inject some humour into the situation.

“Like doors. Like mind-control. Anything. But it has a price – that’s what Cal said, anyway. He could be wrong.”

Trip curls his arm around her, tighter than before, laying a kiss to the top of her head. “I like it,” he mutters, “just like I like you, Daisy-chain.”

“I’ve had a lot of names, don’t give me another one,” she grumbles, though it’s superficial. Trip hums and something occurs to him – something that isn’t unique by far, but uncommon, compared to their other lives as friends and enemies.

“You could have one more.” Trip tries to say it lightly. Her whole attention is on him in a second.

“Like what?” She asks.

“My momma would kill me for asking so soon in a relationship,” he says, teasing and self-deprecating; but his eyes glitter with faith that she’ll say yes. “But how ‘bout _Triplett?_”

“Triplett?”

“Triplett,” he repeats, kissing her again and again, until he can finally say it. “Daisy Triplett.”

Her laugh against his lips does not break his heart.

“_Yes._”

It solidifies his hope.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a three-way collaboration as a model for the upcoming [AoS Round Robin Event](https://aosroundrobin2019.tumblr.com/)! Signups for the event are from September 14-22.
> 
> You can find all three of us on tumblr: [lazyfish (chapter 1)](https://bobbimorseisbisexual.tumblr.com/), [shesthemuscle (chapter 2)](https://creativemoxiety.tumblr.com/), and [wearethwitches (chapter 3)](https://wearethewitches.tumblr.com/).


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